“I notice you don’t condemn Signor Veruda.”
“The vile seducer? Come, Tina, all men are vile seducers. That is the way we’re made.”
“All of you?” she retorted, uneasy, willing it to be a jest.
“Do you really think Signor Veruda is the first?” he leaned to whisper in her ear. “Lady Isabelle is incredibly generous with her favors.”
Tina shuddered. She felt a little sick. “I don’t believe you,” she said bluntly.
“You should believe me. Tina. If anyone should know, then it is I.”
It was as if he were boasting, as if he thought she would be impressed by his confidences, but Tina was repulsed. Why must all men be vile seducers? Was that the truth or simply Horace’s own belief?
Tina did her best to ignore him after that, eating her cold chicken and salad, listening to the others enjoying themselves. His words ate at her, eroding away any sort of feeling she’d had for him.
Richard had done all he could for Sir Henry. The sight of the older gentleman lying on the ground, bleeding from the bullet wound, had shocked Richard more than he had let on. He hadn’t seen his brother immediately after he’d been shot, but Anthony must have appeared much like that.
Sir Henry was resting comfortably, according to the doctor, and it was best to leave him sleep. Healing came through sleep, and if Sir Henry had damaged his brain, then he needed to rest and heal himself.
And if he didn’t wake up?
It was Isabelle’s trembling question that caused the doctor to hesitate and then reassure her that in nine t
imes out of ten, the patient woke up.
“I couldn’t say in front of Her Ladyship,” the doctor murmured later, when he was alone with Richard, “but I have grave fears for her husband. He’s sustained a very nasty injury. We must pray he wakes soon.”
Will Jackson had returned from the picnic, and he and Richard shut themselves into the library.
“You need to question all the men who were out this morning,” Richard said seriously.
“You don’t think this was an accident then?”
“I don’t know, but Sir Henry told me he was looking into the lives of John Little and Lord Horace Gilfoyle. They are both here. Perhaps they decided to put an end to his inquiries.”
“Or perhaps it was a simple accident,” Will Jackson soothed. “However I will begin to ask some questions.”
“Be subtle about it, Will. Tell them Lady Isabelle wants to know.”
“I’ll be subtle, Richard.”
Richard lapsed into thought for a moment. “If someone was trying to shoot him, then there’s a good chance our Captain is one of the guests.”
“Good point. Perhaps we should create an opportunity for him to take a shot at me and catch him in the act!”
Richard smiled despite his gravity. “One wounded Guardian at a time, Will. Did you find Miss Smythe?” he asked. “You’re back awfully quickly.”
“I found her. I tried to sit with her at luncheon, but Gilfoyle pushed in. Didn’t seem much point hanging around after that, so I came back here.”
Richard had hoped that Will and Tina might find some sort of common ground, but it seemed that Gilfoyle had other ideas. For a man who’d been indifferent to Tina, calling her an innocent and boring, he’d certainly changed his opinion of her. Richard had the uncomfortable feeling that it had been his lessons that had brought the change about, the absolute opposite of what he’d intended.
“I’ll go and join them at the river,” he said abruptly. “Stay here with Sir Henry, and let’s just hope he wakes soon. Perhaps he saw who shot him? That would solve all our problems.”
“There is another possibility,” Will began tentatively. “Lady Isabelle and Signor Veruda.”
Richard sighed and shook his head. “I know what you’re thinking, but I can’t see it. Despite her behavior last night Lady Isabelle loves her husband. They have an awkward relationship; well awkward on her part anyway. Sir Henry is the calming influence, he’s her rock. She would never leave him, and certainly never harm him. And as for Signor Veruda . . . can you see him lurking in the woods with a loaded gun, taking aim, then melting into the trees? He wouldn’t be able to help launching into an aria.”
Will grinned. “Put like that, perhaps not.”